The funeral had been over for hours.
It had been taken place during the early morning gray. The early morning had always been her favorite time of day, when a new day was born and the old one faded into oblivion, when life and death merged into one and danced beneath neither the moon nor the sun. She would rise with the fall of the moon, and dance in the eerie light. And sometimes, I would dance with her. But that was before she wasted away and died.
It was now early evening, and still I knelt by her grave, a grief-shocked silence in the air. Her death was unreal, and I had yet to believe it, even though I had known she would pass for months before she did, the cancer first ripping away her body and then her soul.
The cloudy sky held no hint of sunlight, no silver lining. I remembered a similar day, in which we had sat on the grass, waiting for the rain to come. I had cracked my first joke then. She had noticed there wasn't any silver lining on the clouds and said as much. I told her I'd sue for false advertising. She was the one who taught me how to laugh, oh so long ago. She was the one who taught me how to live.
The low hum of a motor vehicle disrupted the silence. The shattered pieces quickly reassembled themselves as black leather shoes crunched on the gravel of the path and then padded through the should-have-been-bright- green grass. They stopped behind me, just to my right. I ignored them and concentrated on the gravestone, the granite hard and uncaring, cold and lifeless.
"It's time to go, Squall. You can't stay here any longer." The voice didn't register in my mind. I swam through confusion as a hand took my arm and hauled me to my feet. I stared blankly into the person's face before a name rang through my mind: *Irvine*. He led me to a car, presumably his. *Why did he come? Why now?* I hadn't seen the longhaired man in two years, ever since our last battle with Edea. He had simply. disappeared. Nobody had known why or been able to track him. He had left shortly after my seventeenth birthday, and the last I had heard of him was a note confirming his continued existence that came with a present for my eighteenth birthday. The gift remained unopened on my dresser. Rinoa had laughed at my insistence that it stay that way. *Rinoa. Oh God, she's dead..!* I slumped against Irvine and choked out a single sob. He tightened his hold on me to keep me from falling. Helping me into the passenger side of his car, he buckled me in. I used the time it took him to settle into his own seat to regain my composure. *It doesn't matter. I don't care*.
Irvine started the engine and the low purr stung what was left of my heart. She had always liked cars that purred. We drove in an uncomfortable silence. He glanced at me and cleared his throat nervously.
"Like my wheels?" *Wheels?* The simple slang confused my blurred mind, until he continued. "It's a '67 Ford Convertible, smoky gray." He shut up after that for twenty minutes (I watched the clock). Then he took one hand off the wheel and patted my knee. "Everything will be okay." He didn't look at me, and kept his hand where it was. I stared at it in fascination for a while, the brown leather dull in the faint light. Finally, the smoky gray '67 Ford Convertible (as he styled it) stopped and the hand squeezed my knee, before tangling its gloved fingers in the hairs at the nape of my neck and turning my face towards his. He studied my eyes while he spoke. "Are you going to be okay?" I nodded, not really believing it, and looked at our surroundings. We were at my apartment, the one I shared-had shared- with Rinoa. An overwhelming sorrow filled me at the thought of having to face the empty-for it was empty, without Rinoa-apartment, face everything that was her and had been her; from the cherry tomatoes she had lovingly grown on the balcony, to the sheets on their bed that smelled of her sweet and gentle scent. *She's really gone.*. Quickly I clamped down on the grief, and shoved it away. This was life, and I would have to deal with it. *It doesn't matter. I don't care.*
Irvine frowned. The simple movement brought my attention back to him. "Maybe you should come home with me.." He gestured at the apartment. "I don't think you're ready to face that." He stepped on the gas before I could refuse. I watched him shamelessly while he drove. He was still as handsome as ever, with chiseled features and long, ruddy red-brown hair tied back with a purple ribbon. Some things never changed. He still had his trench coat and cowboy hat-the latter was between us in the car for fear of being blown away by the wind. However, dark gray pants and a black turtleneck adorned his thin frame in place of the jeans, tee shirt, and vest.
"I have to warn you, my home isn't exactly a home yet." Irvine licked his lips and continued. "I only just moved in yesterday." He rounded a bend with the spin of the steering wheel and pulled into the parking lot of an apartment building.
"Well," he breathed, "Home Sweet Home."
I sat and stared dumbly at it. The next thing I remembered was walking in the door to his apartment on the top floor. It was well furnished, even though most of the furniture was still wrapped in bubble wrap-it seemed he had done well while he was away. A kitchenette and living area were visible. An open door next to the kitchenette displayed a full bath, and two doors to the right, opposite the kitchenette, were closed. It looked like a home, but Irvine was right, it didn't have the feel of being lived in, like it was out of a magazine clipping.
Irvine settled me onto the leather couch before going to make up the guest bedroom. I stared blankly at his unplugged television while he prepared a meal for us. I didn't know or care what it was. We turned in for the night afterwards. Irvine gave me a pair of old sweats and a tee shirt to wear to bed. I didn't tell him that I usually slept in my favorite pair of Mighty Mouse boxers. He tucked me into the twin bed that night, for all the world like a mother with an overgrown child. He sat on the edge of my bed for a minute, fidgeting with the sheets, his purple silk pajama bottoms rustling softly.
"Why?" I asked suddenly, unaware that the word was leaving my mouth until I had said it.
"Huh?"
"Why did you go? Why did you come back?" I choked on the questions and my voice cracked, nearly making them unintelligible, but continued, "Why did you leave me?" I had meant to say 'us' but somehow the word got lost in the void of my emotions.
He watched me uneasily before turning his gaze away.
"To answer the second question first: I was worried about you. I didn't know how you would handle. her death. The first and third questions are harder to answer, on a mental level I suppose, but I'll try my best. I'm not sure about why I went myself. I think... I couldn't stand to see the two of you together. Gods, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy." He smiled sadly at me. "But, being a selfish bastard, I wanted you to be happy with me. I love you, I've always loved you, and I think I shall continue to love you even though you will never feel the same about me." He got up. "I think it is time for sleep now, Squall." With that, he turned off the lights and retreated to his own room, leaving me in a groggy stunned silence.
*The hell...*
(hey, how do you like it? I, personally, think it's pretty good, considering I've only watched my friend (Kage no Kokoro) play FF8 for an hour and a half! Can somebody tell me the color of Irvine's eye? And Squall's? by the way, this started out as a Squall/Irvine fic, but I think it's going to be one-sided now, either that or super long so Squall can get over Rinoa's death and the guilt of supposedly betraying her memory, sigh, RxR please!)
It had been taken place during the early morning gray. The early morning had always been her favorite time of day, when a new day was born and the old one faded into oblivion, when life and death merged into one and danced beneath neither the moon nor the sun. She would rise with the fall of the moon, and dance in the eerie light. And sometimes, I would dance with her. But that was before she wasted away and died.
It was now early evening, and still I knelt by her grave, a grief-shocked silence in the air. Her death was unreal, and I had yet to believe it, even though I had known she would pass for months before she did, the cancer first ripping away her body and then her soul.
The cloudy sky held no hint of sunlight, no silver lining. I remembered a similar day, in which we had sat on the grass, waiting for the rain to come. I had cracked my first joke then. She had noticed there wasn't any silver lining on the clouds and said as much. I told her I'd sue for false advertising. She was the one who taught me how to laugh, oh so long ago. She was the one who taught me how to live.
The low hum of a motor vehicle disrupted the silence. The shattered pieces quickly reassembled themselves as black leather shoes crunched on the gravel of the path and then padded through the should-have-been-bright- green grass. They stopped behind me, just to my right. I ignored them and concentrated on the gravestone, the granite hard and uncaring, cold and lifeless.
"It's time to go, Squall. You can't stay here any longer." The voice didn't register in my mind. I swam through confusion as a hand took my arm and hauled me to my feet. I stared blankly into the person's face before a name rang through my mind: *Irvine*. He led me to a car, presumably his. *Why did he come? Why now?* I hadn't seen the longhaired man in two years, ever since our last battle with Edea. He had simply. disappeared. Nobody had known why or been able to track him. He had left shortly after my seventeenth birthday, and the last I had heard of him was a note confirming his continued existence that came with a present for my eighteenth birthday. The gift remained unopened on my dresser. Rinoa had laughed at my insistence that it stay that way. *Rinoa. Oh God, she's dead..!* I slumped against Irvine and choked out a single sob. He tightened his hold on me to keep me from falling. Helping me into the passenger side of his car, he buckled me in. I used the time it took him to settle into his own seat to regain my composure. *It doesn't matter. I don't care*.
Irvine started the engine and the low purr stung what was left of my heart. She had always liked cars that purred. We drove in an uncomfortable silence. He glanced at me and cleared his throat nervously.
"Like my wheels?" *Wheels?* The simple slang confused my blurred mind, until he continued. "It's a '67 Ford Convertible, smoky gray." He shut up after that for twenty minutes (I watched the clock). Then he took one hand off the wheel and patted my knee. "Everything will be okay." He didn't look at me, and kept his hand where it was. I stared at it in fascination for a while, the brown leather dull in the faint light. Finally, the smoky gray '67 Ford Convertible (as he styled it) stopped and the hand squeezed my knee, before tangling its gloved fingers in the hairs at the nape of my neck and turning my face towards his. He studied my eyes while he spoke. "Are you going to be okay?" I nodded, not really believing it, and looked at our surroundings. We were at my apartment, the one I shared-had shared- with Rinoa. An overwhelming sorrow filled me at the thought of having to face the empty-for it was empty, without Rinoa-apartment, face everything that was her and had been her; from the cherry tomatoes she had lovingly grown on the balcony, to the sheets on their bed that smelled of her sweet and gentle scent. *She's really gone.*. Quickly I clamped down on the grief, and shoved it away. This was life, and I would have to deal with it. *It doesn't matter. I don't care.*
Irvine frowned. The simple movement brought my attention back to him. "Maybe you should come home with me.." He gestured at the apartment. "I don't think you're ready to face that." He stepped on the gas before I could refuse. I watched him shamelessly while he drove. He was still as handsome as ever, with chiseled features and long, ruddy red-brown hair tied back with a purple ribbon. Some things never changed. He still had his trench coat and cowboy hat-the latter was between us in the car for fear of being blown away by the wind. However, dark gray pants and a black turtleneck adorned his thin frame in place of the jeans, tee shirt, and vest.
"I have to warn you, my home isn't exactly a home yet." Irvine licked his lips and continued. "I only just moved in yesterday." He rounded a bend with the spin of the steering wheel and pulled into the parking lot of an apartment building.
"Well," he breathed, "Home Sweet Home."
I sat and stared dumbly at it. The next thing I remembered was walking in the door to his apartment on the top floor. It was well furnished, even though most of the furniture was still wrapped in bubble wrap-it seemed he had done well while he was away. A kitchenette and living area were visible. An open door next to the kitchenette displayed a full bath, and two doors to the right, opposite the kitchenette, were closed. It looked like a home, but Irvine was right, it didn't have the feel of being lived in, like it was out of a magazine clipping.
Irvine settled me onto the leather couch before going to make up the guest bedroom. I stared blankly at his unplugged television while he prepared a meal for us. I didn't know or care what it was. We turned in for the night afterwards. Irvine gave me a pair of old sweats and a tee shirt to wear to bed. I didn't tell him that I usually slept in my favorite pair of Mighty Mouse boxers. He tucked me into the twin bed that night, for all the world like a mother with an overgrown child. He sat on the edge of my bed for a minute, fidgeting with the sheets, his purple silk pajama bottoms rustling softly.
"Why?" I asked suddenly, unaware that the word was leaving my mouth until I had said it.
"Huh?"
"Why did you go? Why did you come back?" I choked on the questions and my voice cracked, nearly making them unintelligible, but continued, "Why did you leave me?" I had meant to say 'us' but somehow the word got lost in the void of my emotions.
He watched me uneasily before turning his gaze away.
"To answer the second question first: I was worried about you. I didn't know how you would handle. her death. The first and third questions are harder to answer, on a mental level I suppose, but I'll try my best. I'm not sure about why I went myself. I think... I couldn't stand to see the two of you together. Gods, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy." He smiled sadly at me. "But, being a selfish bastard, I wanted you to be happy with me. I love you, I've always loved you, and I think I shall continue to love you even though you will never feel the same about me." He got up. "I think it is time for sleep now, Squall." With that, he turned off the lights and retreated to his own room, leaving me in a groggy stunned silence.
*The hell...*
(hey, how do you like it? I, personally, think it's pretty good, considering I've only watched my friend (Kage no Kokoro) play FF8 for an hour and a half! Can somebody tell me the color of Irvine's eye? And Squall's? by the way, this started out as a Squall/Irvine fic, but I think it's going to be one-sided now, either that or super long so Squall can get over Rinoa's death and the guilt of supposedly betraying her memory, sigh, RxR please!)